Haunted: A Beetlejuice FanFic
by Ari.L.S
Summary: The Deetzes just moved to Winter River and Lydia is having problems fitting in. She befriends the Maitlands who are upset that Delia's ruining their house. Lydia wants to help them, but she's afraid of losing them too. Series based.
1. Moving

Dear Readers and Beetlejuice Fans,

Well, here it is, my second full-length fan-fic! Though it isn't as long as my first one, I still worked very hard on it and put as much love into it as I did in the first one.

This fan-fic is series based, though there are many references to the movie. I basically wrote this as a pre-series story that combines parts of the movie with elements from the series, and little bits I made up. Some dialogue is taken verbatim from the movie, such as when Lydia first meets Barbara and Adam. Just a heads up: Beetlejuice is seen very little in this fan-fic because it corresponds to "Third Time's a Charm", which says that Beetlejuice and Lydia met a year after Lydia moved to Winter River. There are also a few more differences from the movie. For example, Lydia starts out as ten years old to correspond with both my first fan-fic and the series. Delia Deetz is also Lydia's biological mother (I've derived from the series that Delia and Lydia are biologically mother and daughter, they just disagree on everything).

Despite these alterations, I hope that you all enjoy my fan-fic. Thanks!

-Arianna Summers (aka Lydia A.)

P.S. I do not own Beetle Juice (the movie) and/or Beetlejuice (the cartoon).

P.P.S. Please review! =)

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**Chapter One: Moving**

Father told us at the dinner table. That night we picked at soppy noodles drenched in butter sauce that was too oily and contained too much garlic with overcooked broccoli bits mixed in. I scraped the stem pieces of the broccoli to the rim of my black square-shaped plate. When Mother cooked broccoli, or any vegetable for that matter, she managed to nearly completely drain out all of the flavorful color the vegetable once had. I barely sipped my water; somehow she managed to screw _that _up too.

Mother's plate was white, as was Father's. Each room in our New York City apartment was decorated according to a specific theme. The dining room's theme was black and white. The long dining table was stained with black and white vertical stripes. The chairs alternated between the solid colors. The legs of these chairs were modeled after chess pieces. I sat at the black bishop. The base color of the walls was black but strange white designs littered the darkness. The designs, I thought, were quite random. At one point they were quite simple and geometric, but in the next section they were complicated and lyrical with winding twists, spins, and swirls. It reminded me much of the entire floor we inhabited. Father owned the apartment building we lived in and the entire top floor was our house.

I wasn't exactly paying attention to the first part of Father's announcement. Instead I picked at my noodles with my black-stained fork. That's what really stunk about being an only child. When the parents wanted to talk about adult things, all the kid could do was sit there and stare at her food. I let out a heavy sigh. I always found Mother and Father's business discussions to be quite boring, as nearly every ten-year-old child would think. Once I actually tried listening in and fell asleep in my lobster bisque. I was about to have a face-full of butter and garlic, but Father's words stopped me in my tracks.

"We're moving."

I stared at him, eyes wide. The cold air of the dining room stung my dark brown irises, already commencing to suck the moisture out. _Moving?_ As in going _away?_ As in _going away and never coming back?_ _That_ kind of moving? My fingers let go of my fork, letting it hit my black square plate with a metallic "clack".

Mother didn't seem too thrilled, which also made me quite surprised. It wasn't like Father to be so…dominant. He sat up nice and straight in his chair and didn't shrink away when Mother looked at him questioningly. As far as I knew, Father shared everything with Mother.

"Charles!" Mother exhaled, her eyes bugging out. "When you said you bought property, I didn't think you meant that you wanted to move _into _it!"

"I don't see what the big deal is, Delia," Father replied, his voice as quiet and fidgety as always, though he continued to force his head erect. "It's located in a nice small town with no big buildings and such. It's the perfect place to _relax_."

"Oh, Charles, you can do that at any old _spa_!" Mother whined. "It's so _boring_ up in Connecticut! I mean, _Winter River?_ That's the middle of scenic _Nowhere!_" I hid a smile behind my napkin. Mother always looked so funny when she was angry. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head and her lips were always pursed in a silly manner. Her nose would squirm ever so slightly when she talked, and her voice would scale to higher pitches with each word that passed through her red-stained lips. They continued with their little tiff for another seven minutes or so before Mother finally lost and left the table furiously.

My gaze trailed straight to Father. He quickly dunked down the rest of the white wine in his glass. Though he was quite the mellow fellow, he was at least a little stressed every time I looked at him. Dark black circles hung under his eyes. His eyelids were drooping. His right knee bounced up and down nervously. Though he may have been rattled by the argument with Mother, I knew that we were still moving. Father never backed down from a deal.

Cautiously I began to push my chair back. I quietly stood and pushed it back in, taking my plate and cup with me. As I neared Father, he looked up at me.

"You excited about moving, Punkin?" he asked while he began standing.

"Sure, I guess," I replied lowly. In reality, I wasn't exactly sure how I felt. Well, at first I was kind of surprised, but now that the news had sunk in, I couldn't derive any emotions. I never really got attached to New York City. I wouldn't be leaving friends behind. My only friend, Percy the cat, would be moving with us. I didn't hate New York City, but I didn't necessarily love it either. As far as I could see, it was just a setting in my life, and settings are subject to change.

"I think you'll like it there," Father said as I followed him into the kitchen. "Our house is at the top of a hill and has a lovely view of the mountains and the town, but it's still sort of secluded. Plus the neighborhood's a lot safer." I tuned Father out as he rambled on about how great our new house was. Sure, Dad, it may have been a nice house, but was it a nice home?

Mother let out a frustrated cry from her art studio. Again I hid a smile behind my hand. Father let out an uncharacteristic chuckle, which caught my attention and made my head whip towards him.

"Diva tantrums," he muttered sarcastically, "you know _I_ love 'em…"

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I sat on my bedroom floor surrounding by a mountain of cardboard boxes. With a marker in my hand, I began labeling them.

"Lydia's Clothes". "Lydia's Clothes 2". "Lydia's Clothes 3". Mother recently went on a huge shopping spree and bought a cornucopia of outlandish outfits, washed in ridiculously bright colors and donned with frivolous decorations like lace, sparkles, and bows, which would make the average ten-year-old go gaga. I preferred to stick to my solids. Hopefully, I would be able to dispose of boxes two and three before moving day.

When I picked through those pieces, I could not find a single inch of fabric I wanted to use to make something more suitable for myself. My black frocks were once strange pants, shirts, skirts, and dresses, but with a few alterations I managed to make them fit my taste. The dresses I normally wore were black with a small V-neck. The sleeves were loose and ended about halfway down my forearm. The dress body was also quite loose, but the material would slightly hug my curves once I actually got some. The skirt reached down just below the knees. Under that I wore a pair of black footless tights. A thick purple and pink striped belt hugged my stomach. Contrary to popular belief, I was not utterly repulsed by the color pink, but too much of it was what turned me away. My pink and purple ponytail holder matched the three-striped belt. Mother didn't seem to approve the fact that I wore the same thing almost every day, but she never actually _said_ anything, so I figured I was in the clear.

"Lydia's Toys". "Lydia's Toys 2". I had no more precious baby toys. They were all handed down to my cousin Bernie Junior, though I never actually saw him at family reunions, which brought me to the conclusion that Bernie Junior did not actually exist, and was just a lie my parents made up so I would give up my toys. Though I enjoyed them when I was young, I became more reluctant to receiving toys as I got older. Each Christmas and birthday, my parents insisted that each relative gave me a doll, or a stupid fake make-up kit, or a stuffed animal, or something else girly. I'm not sure if my parents had trouble grasping the fact that I was mature for my age or they completely realized that and wanted to dumb me down to age-appropriate things. Either way, I rarely ever received the gifts I actually wanted. When I asked for a voodoo doll, I got a Barbie. When I asked for a second voodoo doll, I got Ken and Barbie's dream car (which was pink, by the way). When I asked for a sewing machine to make my own voodoo dolls, I got a Barbie "Sew-with-Me" sewing machine, which was bright magenta and actually did not sew at all. But I can't really be upset with my family. Eventually, I _did_ get the real sewing machine, and I also got a normal bike. I also hoped to get rid these two boxes of unwanted toys before the moving day.

"Lydia's Sewing Machine and Materials". I made sure to write FRAGILE in big, huge letters on all six sides of the box. I underlined each FRAGILE three times, hoping that the moving people would catch my drift.

"Lydia's Make-Up". This small box actually contained my voodoo dolls.

"Lydia's Jewelry". This small box contained the jewelry I wore and the make-up I used.

"Lydia's Voodoo Dolls". This small box actually contained the make-up Mother bought me. I knew that Mother was going to throw it out before moving day.

"Lydia's Photography". "Lydia's Photography 2". "Lydia's Photography 3". "Lydia's Photography 4". "Lydia's Photography 5". All of my photo equipment was delicately packed in these large boxes. If I could only take one thing with me to Winter River, it would be my camera. It was my pride and joy. In fact, I planned on taking the first photography box in the car with me because I didn't trust my baby with the movers. Carefully, I opened the first box and gently lifted the camera out of it. It was black, very slightly shiny, and perfect. This camera was my China doll. It was my most prized possession. Not even Father, who gave it to me for my ninth birthday, was allowed to touch it. Since then, I was also given two more cameras; one that was small and that I used when we went on trips, and another that was a little smaller than my first one and produced instant pictures. I still preferred my first camera, which took photographs that allowed me to develop them. I found that to be half of the fun.

"Photography 5" contained my photo albums and scrap books. I never travelled without my albums. Inside the albums held my best photos (the ones I would use for my portfolio in college), photos from trips, and the ones that preserved my favorite memories. Most of those photos were of Central Park. I rarely went out with Father and Mother. I often rode my bike to Central Park just to take pictures of the beautiful landscape. I took pictures of people relaxing on the grass. I took pictures of trees swaying with the spring zephyr. I took pictures of rocks sitting in their designated spots. I captured life and non-life. I preserved memories. In my new house, in my new room, I would look at those Central Park photos and remember my days in New York City. I would remember good things, such as my ninth birthday, and bad things, like when Dad lost his nerves on Thanksgiving when I was four. Good or bad, they were still memories, bits and pieces of my life, and I think having those old friends to recall was what kept me alive.

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I had no one in New York City to say goodbye to.

As I rode my bike through Central Park for the last time, I couldn't help but sigh. The rocks would not notice my absence. The benches did not realize my existence. The trees would not wave goodbye to me. The relaxing people in the grass would forget me, if they ever recognized my existence.

In this city, in this world in itself, I was just another face. I was just another body, another mind, another soul, one that was simply standing with the rest of the crowd. I was a part of the mass, yet at the same time I was isolated from it. I was exactly like everyone else, but so different simultaneously. I was perfectly present in life, yet invisible.

Goodbye New York.

_Goodbye, Nobody_.

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Everything was packed and ready to go. I sat in the back seat of the car with my camera in hand. A large box titled "Good China" sat next to me. I prayed that my fragile photography equipment was safe and sound in the moving van. All I could do was wait and worry.

"Anyone have to go to the bathroom?" Father asked as he climbed into the driver's seat. Mother shook her head and turned away, still mad. I was thankful for this. Mother tended to break out into song spontaneously on family car trips. Her shrill voice always gave Father and me immense headaches. His eyes trailed to me. I shook my head slowly and sank into the seat, clutching my camera.

The engine hummed to life. Father left the parking lot of the apartment building. I glanced at Mother, who was staring sadly at the top floor, the house she worked so hard to decorate. Whoever moved there was going to ruin her "beautiful" work. A heavy sigh escaped her lips.

We sat in traffic for half an hour. Once we finally made it out, Father made sure to get us to the highway as quickly as possible. It was about nine in the morning, the time I usually woke up during summer vacation. My eyelids drooped tiredly. I had been up since five getting ready for the big move. Now that we were finally on the road, I failed to see what was so big about it.

I pushed myself into the proper seating position and glanced out the rear-window. Three husky moving trucks stalked us. My equipment was in one of those trucks. I prayed that the driver who kept switching lanes was not carrying my photography stuff.

Bored out of my mind, I began snapping photos. The bright flashes failed to bother my eyes. I decided to title this album "Backseat Blues". I took pictures of the "Good China" box using strange angles to give it an abstract look. I captured close-ups of the air vents. The light that bounced off of the metallic door handle gave a nice effect. But shortly enough, my fun ended.

"Lydia," Mother snapped, "stop taking pictures! The flash is hurting my eyes!" When I knew she wasn't looking at me, I stuck my tongue out at her. What else was I supposed to do? I couldn't sketch because my art supplies were in one of the moving trucks. I couldn't read for the same reason. Oh, a good Stephen King novel would've been _perfect_ for the ride over! I let out a sigh and sank back into the seat. If it weren't for that stupid box of "Good China", I could have stretched myself across the back seat and slept. My mouth stretched into a vast yawn. I blinked a couple of times. The ride was going to be at least eight hours.

Whoopee.

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Author's Note: I hope you guys liked it! I just finished the story today, but I'm going to post chapters in groups of two because I still have to revise some chapters. Thanks! =)


	2. The House in Winter River

**Chapter Two: The House in Winter River**

I'm not even sure how it happened, but Connecticut just popped up outside all of a sudden. I couldn't remember falling asleep, but I couldn't remember being awake either. My back ached as I pushed myself into the correct posture. My muscles felt groggy and my limbs were like noodles. Slowly I began to scrape the sleep out of my eyes. My gaze trailed to the rear-view mirror. I saw Father's tired face. If he could, he would have let Mother drive, but with her behind the wheel we would have been on our way back to New York.

I turned to look out the window. Up ahead, black letters on a white piece of wood said, "Welcome to Winter River!" We drove past the sign and into the small town. It was rather lackluster, especially when compared to New York City. The buildings were all painted the same plain white. Everything was quite small. In fact, the largest building in the town was the general store.

"Look, Punkin," Father said as he pointed at the hill we were driving towards. I sat up and stretched my neck as far as it could go. The tall white house sitting on top of the hill was growing larger and larger the further up the hill we drove. "Doesn't our new house look lovely?" Mother pushed out a loud cough. We crossed a red covered bridge, finding a hole in its side, but no one said anything about it. All I did was wonder how it got there.

I left the car as soon as Father parked it. My muscles were tight and tense from sitting in the same position for eight hours. I stretched my arms high, bending my back a little. At this point, I finally realized what I was hearing: silence. Besides the cheerful chirping of neighboring birds, I heard absolutely nothing. No cars, no sirens, no shouting. All was quiet. I took in a deep breath. Instead of pollution, I inhaled crisp, fresh, country air. It didn't smell like roasting peanuts and sewage. Instead, the air carried an aroma of pine trees and grass.

Father let out a sigh as he stretched out. I glanced over my shoulder at him. For once, he was actually smiling. It was nice to finally see Father happy, though at the same time I knew that the happiness was not going to last.

"Ugh, it's even uglier in person," I heard Mother mumble as she stepped out of the car. She fumbled on her high heels when she walked with Father across the pebble drive-way. After grabbing my camera, I began circling the outside of the house, scanning it up and down. I had to admit, it was quite nice. It was a shame that we were moving in. Mother was plotting the house's facelift.

Moving men shuffled about, carrying furniture pieces into the entrance room. I snapped a few photos of the furniture waiting to be taken into a house before sitting on one of our black leather seats. Two men lifted the seat like I wasn't even there and carried it in through the front door, setting it down near the staircase.

The entrance room was dimly lit by the lovely brass chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. Father was pointing out examples of the house's "great country craftsmanship" to my unimpressed Mother. A large spider crawled across the banister and began fabricating a web.

"What do you think, Punkin?" Father asked just as I raised my camera, zooming in on the spider and her web.

"Mother hates it," I replied flatly. After the shutter clicked and the flash went off, I turned back to Father. "I could live here," I added. A small smile passed across his lips and he lightly patted my back.

"Great," he said. His gaze switched to the floor above us for a moment, then went back to me. "Why don't you go pick out your room?" he suggested. With a shrug, I pushed myself out of the chair and watched as a moving man shoved it away. The wooden stairs creaked under my feet with each step I took. Another thing Mother would complain about. Within a few months, maybe these stairs would be metal and stained with black, possibly maroon.

Footsteps clunked against the wood floors and signified that Mother was walking in my direction. Another heavy pair told me that someone else was with her, but it wasn't Father. This could only mean one other person: Otho.

Rolling my eyes, I ducked away from them as they passed. They both held a spray can in their hands. Mother briefly stopped and wrote something on the wall, then continued speaking to Otho about her redecoration plans. Once they entered another room, I approached the marking on the wall and bent down a little, pointing my camera upward. After snapping the photo, I continued across the floor. Someone brushed past me. I glanced over my shoulder, figuring that it was a moving man, but there was no one in sight. A cold shiver snaked down my back and I carried on.

I finally found a bedroom at the end of the hall. The room was bright and cheery with floral wallpaper, cherry wood furniture, and white linens. A flower quilt was spread across the bed and another one hung on the wall. Never in my life had I seen a room that had such an uncomplicated decoration scheme. I was so used to bold colors and abstract designs. The room's simplicity was strange to me, yet at the same time it was sort of relaxing. Even so, I preferred a black, gray, red, and purple color scheme.

I wandered towards the wall opposite of the door. A tall window took up a slice of the pale yellow wall. A set of white curtains draped over the window. At the bottom of my line of vision I spotted brass handles. I grasped the handles and pulled them towards me. The window split in half and opened a way onto a small deck. When I stood on the deck, I had an amazing view of the town resting at the bottom of the hill. I retreated back inside and returned with my camera. After setting the angle just right, I began snapping away.

This was my room.

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Two days after we moved in, the renovations began. We were adding on a few things, like our one-wall sundeck, along with some other strange decorations on the house's exterior. Most of the rooms were being remodeled or redecorated except for Father's study, which he begged and pleaded to be left alone. Outside I heard the construction workers hammering into some of the walls to join two rooms together.

When Mother saw my furniture, she shrieked and demanded that the ugly things were thrown away. She actually stripped the linens off the bed, the quilt from the wall, and the curtains from the curtain rods and tossed them out the balcony door. Though she was one who liked outlandish patterns, she couldn't stand floral textiles. I couldn't blame her, but throwing the blankets and curtains out the window seemed a little unnecessary.

I wanted to paint my room black, but Mother insisted on painting my room light purple. There was no fighting against her when she was set on her decision, so I had no choice but to obey. The floor molding continued a little ways up my wall and that was colored red. My old furniture filled the room. A bed with tall bedposts that allowed my purple canopy and bed curtains to hang above the mattress sat in the top left-hand corner of the room. Covering the bed was a black comforter, twin pillows with black pillow cases, and a small dark purple circular throw pillow. My black night stand, dark wooden vanity, and black iron bookcase sat in their new places in my new room. In the center of the room, a small round table with a dark teal spider-web tablecloth stood. A lotus lamp sat in the center of the table. The table itself sat on a large circular blush pink rug with a blood red spiral circling through it. Over the balcony window I draped deep crimson curtains.

Most of my personal items remained in their boxes. My camera equipment had to stay packed until the dark room in the basement was completed. My bookshelf was empty and waiting for my book collection. My vanity was missing make-up. A blank area under my bed marked where my voodoo dolls would be hidden.

With my camera in hand and black hat on my head, I stepped outside into the sun. It was always cloudy in New York, so I never had to worry about sun exposure, but now I took extra care when I went outside. I liked being pale and I didn't want to spoil my porcelain white skin with a tan. Mother let out a series of psychotic screams as one of the construction men lifted one of her sculptures with his crane. I snapped a shot of the fourth sculpture before it was dropped back to the ground, trapping Mother against the wall of the house. While she cried that her art was dangerous, I continued circling the house, ignoring the muffled conversations of our watching neighbors.

One part of the house that intrigued me was the tower that marked where the attic was. If I could, I would have made it my bedroom, but I liked my first choice. It was locked anyway, and no one had the key.

I pointed the camera upwards a little to give the tower a more foreboding and lofty appearance. Just before I could click, my eyes caught sight of two faces in the middle of the window. My eyes widened like saucers and I lowered my camera, still staring at the faces. Their features were blurry, but I could tell that one was wearing glasses and the other had a head of dark curly hair. I glanced over my shoulder. Perhaps someone else took notice to this, but all eyes were on my dramatic Mother. When I looked back at the window, the faces were gone.

"Strange," I muttered to myself as I walked away and towards the front door. As I was doing that, a car drove up and parked on the grass, and the woman in the driver's seat began waving to some of the bystanders. I glanced at the window once more before approaching her. Again I felt chills going up my back. "What happened to the people who used to live here?" I asked the woman.

"They drowned," the little girl sitting in the back jumped in.

"Yes, they were family," the woman added, "I was devastated." She didn't _sound_ too devastated. She took something out of her pocket and handed it to me with a brief, "Here." I took the heavy metallic thing and observed it for a moment. The dark-brown stained brass was shaped into a key.

"Is this the key to the attic?" I asked, not taking my eyes off of it.

"That's a skeleton key," she replied. "That key will open any door in the house. Give that to your father, and," she handed me a business card, "you might want to mention that I _single-handedly_ decorated that house, in case he wants any…advice in that arena." Quickly I thanked her and walked off, gripping the key tightly and allowing the card to flutter to the ground. I ran to the top of the stairs and left my camera on the bed before rushing towards the attic. The staircase was tight, but I wasn't claustrophobic so it was okay. With each step I took, the air got chillier and chillier. Slowly, I moved the key into the keyhole and twisted it. I figured that I would be able to push the door in after the first twist, but it did not budge. In fact, I felt something pushing against me. I jiggled the key even more, pushing on the door with more force, but my efforts were of no avail.

I pulled away my hand and let the key sit in the keyhole. For a long time nothing happened. I was about to pull the key out, but then I saw it jiggle. Quickly, the key jumped out of the keyhole and plummeted to the ground. Eyes wide, I bent down and picked it up. The metal was ice cold and did not warm up when I wrapped my fingers around it.

"What…what's going on?" I asked myself quietly, my mind frazzled. Questions jumbled and buzzed in my mind, but one question stuck out and rang the loudest of them all. Was this house…no, it can't be.

But it _is._

But I have no proof.

Yes I do.

My glazed over gaze rested on the rusty doorknob. I was still chilly. My head was heavy and spinning. I tightly gripped the banister and brought my vision to the ground. A pale green light squeezed between the door and the floor and branched out into the space on my side of the door. My mouth dropped open, eyes widening even more as I sucked in a deep breath.

What _is_ this?


	3. The Attic

**Chapter Three: The Attic**

Determined to get in, I jammed the key into the keyhole once more and twisted it every which way. I didn't care if the darn thing snapped in half. I _had_ to know what was in there! With a final smack to the butt of the key, the door swerved open. First I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching, and then I stepped in and shut the door behind me.

The first thing I saw was a model spread across two tables. Slowly I approached it and knelt beside it, carefully observing the masterly crafted miniature buildings. I practically grew up surrounded by art, but this was probably the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Everything was a perfect copy of its original, down to the little details like fire hydrants, road signs, and gardens. My eyes slowly scanned the model, taking in every last piece like they were bits of my favorite foods. I was completely awestruck, speechless. It must have taken a lifetime to complete!

My line of vision travelled up, down, and side to side throughout the miniature replica of Winter River. I stopped to carefully observe the cemetery. Two miniature wreaths sat on one of the flat areas. The white sash across one said "Adam" while the other read "Barbara". People donned in black surrounded these wreaths. Were Adam and Barbara the people I saw in the window?

I continued travelling towards the bridge with the red cover. In the model's version, the covering was perfect. In reality, there was a large gaping hole. My eyes then moved up to the house. The model had the better version. Outside, cranes and tools were ruining the house's face. A heavy sigh escaped my lips. Once the renovations were complete, the model would be the only proof of the house's former existence.

Something in the corner of my eye caught my attention. It was a rather plain object, but the flash of light blue was what really got my interest. I reached towards the perch it was sitting on and took it in my hands, holding it delicately. It was a book titled, Handbook for the Recently Deceased. The cover was a dull brown and already beginning to wear. The pages inside were starting to gain a yellow tint. I flipped through the pages, briefly scanning the chapter titles. All was silent except for the faint construction noises in the background.

"_The living usually won't see the dead_," I read out loud, my voice a low murmur. "_Live people ignore the strange and unusual_." My eyes paused and stared at that small statement. I re-read it numerous times as if I did not comprehend its meaning. But I knew. I knew too well what that sentence meant. I was the living embodiment of that sentence. _Live people ignore the strange and unusual_. The book remained open in my trembling hands. Pressure built up behind my eyes. A lump formed in my throat. I bowed my head, shutting my eyes tightly, trying my best to fight back tears. Images filled my mind, images of me standing alone in a dark corner at my own birthday party, sitting alone at lunch every day with my bug project as my only company, being without a science partner because everyone thought I was too weird, walking home from school without a friend to talk to. Was this my fate? Was I doomed to be ignored forever as if I were dead?

With the book in hand, I wandered around the attic taking slow steps. The floorboards creaked and whined with each step. There wasn't really much to see in the attic besides the model. The only large piece of furniture was a couch covered with a white tarp. A small seemingly broken television set sat across from the couch. The only thing that did not look old or busted was the half-done wallpaper.

"Lydia!" Mother called in her piercing sing-song voice. The jarring noise caused me to jump in my spot. It seemed like my heart skipped a beat for a moment, but it resumed to its normal metronome. Another cold draft drifted past me and rustled the pages closed. Shuddering, I placed the book back where I found it.

"Wait," I said to myself just as I put my hand on the doorknob. My gaze trailed to the floor. "Where's the key?" Suddenly, I heard the soft noise of metal scraping against wood. The key tapped at my feet and stopped movement with a final clack. I looked back up, scanning the seemingly empty room. "Hello?" I called. There was no answer, simply a small gust from the draft. Quickly I grabbed the key and left the attic, locking the door behind me.

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For the remainder of the summer, I locked myself into a few specific rooms in the house. One was the kitchen, where I ate my brief meals. The next was my newly built dark room, where I developed the piles of pictures I took. Another was my bedroom, where I put together my albums. The last room was the attic. It was too dirty up there for my photography projects, but it was there where I performed my other usual activities. The haunting atmosphere gave me some inspiration for clothing designs. All of my designs were darkly colored, had long sleeves, and long skirts or pants. I found that this just reflected the fact that I was always cold up there. Even with the window closed, goose bumps prickled any exposed skin, and sometimes little gusts of wind would somehow sail under my skirt or through my sleeves.

I brought my spookiest reads upstairs and curled up on the dusty couch where I would read for hours. I read through my Poe collection twice before it was time for school. When I wanted to take a break from my favorite poet, I brought out The Shining and continued from where I left off. Mother did not approve of me reading these works, so I had to keep my treasures hidden behind simpler and more age appropriate books about magic unicorns and amateur detectives. Books that had less than one-hundred pages failed to entertain me. I had long outgrown the shallow characters, generic plots, and simple vocabulary. Classics like Frankenstein and Dracula replaced Nancy Drew and The Babysitter's Club.

Sometimes I would set down my own books and pick up the Handbook. I always returned it to the place I found it, and it never moved. This handbook was the best evidence I had to prove that the house was haunted, but I had not seen ghosts, though every day I felt them. But as they say, seeing is believing.

The book tended to be quite confusing at some points, but for the most part it was extremely fascinating. It contained rules, principles, and guidelines for ghosts to follow. These words were not meant for mortal eyes, and with each page I turned I felt excited shivers slithering up my back. I must have been breaking millions of rules just by being in the room, but I didn't care. This book proved that there was life after death, which gave me comfort. If my first life was not a good one, at least I would have a second chance at happiness.

I particularly enjoyed reading the chapters about interactions between living and dead. Direct contact seemed to be forbidden, but haunting and poltergeisting were fair actions. I learned that the living could greatly influence the afterlives of the dead. Rituals involving contacting the dead actually hurt the spirits, and ones that involved bringing spirits into mortal form could kill them. At the end of a chapter, there was a chant that did just that. But the living could also help the dead. Saying the name of a dead person would revitalize his weary and decomposing soul. Who would remember to say my name when I'm dead? Who would remember say it while I'm alive?

The attic was my special hideaway. I kept the key under a loose floorboard in my room, hoping that Mother wouldn't find it. If she could open the attic door, my sanctuary would be destroyed in the blink of an eye. This was the one place in the house that went untouched (Father caved into Mother's pressure and allowed her to make a few minor alterations to his study). It was the only remnant of this house's sanity. It was the only place I felt comfortable in. My parents could enter my room whenever they wanted, and Mother felt that she could do whatever she pleased to my décor (she attempted to replace my red curtains with pink drapes dotted in huge pink bows), but this attic was mine.


	4. Strange and Unusual

**Chapter Four: Strange and Unusual**

The remainder of summer sped past me, even though the days seemed endless. By the time September rolled around, the cosmetic surgery on the house was complete. The new additions on the outside made the house stick out even more. Mother may have thought she was bringing modern culture into Winter River, but in reality she was just making us look ridiculous. This gave my classmates one more reason to make fun of me, and gave me one more reason to resent going to school.

We received my Miss Shannon's School for Girls uniform a week before school was scheduled to start. It was quite an ugly thing: a navy blue, regular blue, and white plaid skirt with a navy blazer and white-collared shirt. The skirt ended just above my knees, exposing my paper-white anorexic legs. Pulling navy knee-socks on did not help.

I let out a sigh as I looked at myself in the mirror. I reached for my hairbrush and grasped it, but I failed to actually brush my jet-black shoulder-length hair. My eyes trailed to my open messenger bag. School supplies poured out of it. I had yet to finish packing my survival kit. I went to the other side of my room and picked Frankenstein from the bookcase. I bent down and took my sketchbook from the bottom shelf. The vampire alarm clock on my nightstand beeped once, signifying that it was seven-thirty. School started in half an hour. Sighing, I finished packing my things and sealed the bag. After briefly loathing over my appearance for a final time, I went downstairs.

Father sat at the table, looking as exhausted and stressed as ever, with a stack of papers in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Mother was burning toast while she rambled on about how her newest sculpture was coming along. The garage had been renovated into a new art studio. Father hoped that having her studio in another building would reduce noise pollution in the main house, but that plan quickly swirled down the drain.

"Good morning, Lydia!" Mother sang piercingly. Father jumped in his spot, his bloodshot eyes wide and his body trembling. I winced as I grabbed the brown paper bag on the end of the counter. "Don't you want some breakfast?" she questioned, pushing a plate of blackened toast in my face.

"Uh…n-no thanks, Mother," I responded nervously, already halfway out the door. "I'll be late for school."

"Aw! Is our sweet little girl excited for her first day?" she cooed as she pinched my cheek. I managed to wiggle away from her before she could envelope me in a huge hug. "Bye Mother! Bye Father!" I called before shutting the door in Mother's face. I stuffed my lunch into my bag and ran to the side of the house where my bike was parked. The rainbow flowered helmet I got with the bike sat neglected on the ground next to the bike. I propped myself on the seat and peddled away.

Even though I had lived in Winter River for two months, I had yet to see the entire town up close. I already had the route to school mapped out in my head, and this route allowed me to pass by the cemetery. After passing through the black iron gates, I dismounted my bike and walked it across the grass. The sun's bright rays were shining brilliantly and a calm breeze wafted past me. I may have been the only living person there, but the cemetery was far from empty. With each grave I passed, with each name I whispered, I imagined a matching coffin encasing a corpse buried under six feet of dirt. I imagined a decrepit soul floating around in the afterlife alone and forgotten. I saw that soul regaining a small piece of his essence as I whispered his name. His ghost was not as pale, his clothes were not as tattered, his face was not as gaunt. Thinking about that soul and the other forgotten souls I had given names to, I couldn't help but smile. It was nice to feel needed.

My eyes trailed to the watch wrapped around my wrist. School was starting in seven minutes! Gasping, I quickly jumped onto my bike and peddled as fast as my legs allowed me to. By the time I got to the small private school, my muscles ached like I just ran a marathon. I haphazardly parked my bike and locked it, then ran through the double doors. I got there just in time to see the back end of a large crowd of girls in identical outfits enter the auditorium. I followed the group, figuring that was what I was supposed to do.

We all filed into the maroon-colored seats. Before taking my seat, I scanned the room and tried to estimate the number of girls in this school. My old school, though it was also a private school as well, had at least fifty kids per grade. This school, with grades five to nine, looked like it had just over one hundred girls total. This meant that everyone knew each other, which meant there was a miniscule chance that I'd fit in.

A woman wearing a frilly white shirt and a black pencil skirt approached the podium. Her red hair was worn in a high rigid bun. A pair of thin black glasses perched at the end of her pointed nose. She spoke into the microphone with a tight British accent. Each syllable was annunciated cleanly, each vowel was clearly spoken, and each consonant was given emphasis. Her head was always raised, her nose pointed upward snootily, and her eyes never actually made contact with her audience. Instead, her eyes were lightly closed most of the time.

After giving an opening speech about how great the school year was going to be, the woman (who I later learned was Miss Shannon herself) gave a brief orientation for the fifth graders that were new to the school. I was among this group, but I barely paid attention to the orientation. Instead, I let my mind wander back to the cemetery. Sadly, I was not able to find Adam and Barbara's graves. They were not in the spot the model said they were in. Perhaps the person who put them there was not as adept in model-making as Adam and Barbara were. What saddened me even more was that I had not seen or heard from them. It would have been fun to meet them. I always wondered what ghosts looked like. Maybe they were gross and decrepit like the zombies in the movies. How cool! What a treat it would be to say, "I live in a haunted house." But I still did not have definite proof. What if they left already?

I noticed the noise level around me was getting louder. When I snapped out of my daze, I saw that everyone was getting out of her seat and squeezing out of the aisle she was sitting in. It must have been time to go. _Finally_. I slowly sat up and stretched my arms out tiredly before gathering my belongings and following the rest of the girls in my row. They were all talking to each other like they were old friends, and then there was me. I followed the pack with lowered eyes and neutral lips. Fitting in wasn't exactly my strong point. Mother always told me that being unique was a wonderful thing, but that's only if you have the confidence to do so. Perhaps I could find the confidence to branch out, but I could only do that if I knew that someone would accept me.

"Fifth graders, please follow me!" a woman exclaimed. I glanced over my shoulder and spotted the woman who was calling my grade over. She wore a pencil skirt that was similar to Miss Shannon's, but this woman wore a white collared shirt and the same blazer the students had on. Even the _teachers_ were put through the torture of uniformity!

The entire fifth grade (consisting of about twenty girls) followed the woman to the second floor and down to the end of the hallway. Before going to our first class, we had to check into our homerooms. The grade was divided into two groups, one of nine and one of ten. I followed my smaller half into room 210, where we were greeted by an ancient woman with straggling poorly dyed blonde hair. A pair of rose red glasses sat at the end of her crooked nose. Her outfit of choice was a loose black skirt that (thankfully) reached to the ground and the Miss Shannon's blazer.

I chose to sit in the back of the room while she took attendance. When "Lydia Deetz" was called, I shyly raised my hand, eyes lowered to avoid the stares of my new classmates. They obviously knew that I was a newcomer. She called the next girl and I put my hand down. When I finally had the courage to look up, I noticed that most of the girls had already turned away, but some continued to stare at me. I lowered my head once more, but I kept my eyes raised. One of the girls was abnormally short but had a huge head of orange hair that fanned out. Her blue eyes hid behind a pair of colossal Coke-bottle glasses. Another was abnormally tall and had a huge nose and buck teeth. Her hair was long and light brown. Though they may have been the oddballs in the "looks department", they seemed nice enough. Their surnames must have started with early letters in the alphabet because I never heard their names called.

The next order of business was handing out schedules. Mine read as follows:

Deetz, Lidia  
1988-1989 School Year  
D/O/B: November 21, 1977  
Class Schedule

Homeroom: Rm 210, Ms. Kraznee  
Hour 1 8am-9am: Mathematics, Rm 210, Ms. Kraznee  
Hour 2 9am-10am: English, Rm 101, Mr. Reed  
Hour 3 10am-11am: Gym, Gymnasium, Coach Donahue  
Hour 4 11am-12pm: Lunch, Cafeteria  
Hour 5 12pm-1pm: Sewing, Rm 314, Mrs. Rodgers (Semester 1); Home Economics, Rm 315, Mrs. Shergold (Semester 2)  
Hour 6 1pm-2pm: Science, Rm 203, Mr. Hogsworth  
Hour 7 2pm-3pm: History, Rm 107, Ms. Williams

I let out a small sigh. They spelt my name wrong again. I learned to get used to it, though. After all, "Lydia" was a tough name to spell. Not really. I scribbled out the first "i" and replaced it with a "y". Then I actually looked at the classes I had. A quiet groan escaped my mouth when I saw that I had math, of all things, first hour. Math was my worst subject and, quite frankly, it was extremely boring. But my lips curled into a small smile when "Science" came up as my second to last class. Science was my favorite subject, but at the same time I hated dissecting animals. Still, it would be nice to end the day with a subject I liked.

I remained in my seat after Ms. Kraznee dismissed homeroom since my first class was hers. Only three other girls, two of them being the girls that were looking at me, remained seated. Within a matter of minutes, the rest of the class entered and sat down. Ms. Kraznee stood and began taking attendance in her dull drone. The first girl to be called, Clare Brewster, was not present. A girl named Victoria was called, followed by the girl with the Coke-bottle glasses. Her name was Prudence. The girl with the overbite was next. Her name was Bertha. It wasn't until she reached my name that Clare decided to show up to class. Her big poof of blonde hair definitely caught my attention. Her skin was much darker than natural for someone with her color hair and bright blue eyes. Her lips were curled into a wide open smile.

"Sorry I'm late, Ms. Kraznee," she loudly said in her obnoxious valley-girl accent. "I was just at the _salon_ getting my _hair done_." As she said this, she bounced her stiff hair with her palms. "Isn't my new do just _ravishing_?" Ms. Kraznee let out a low cough.

"Thank you for joining us, Miss Brewster," the old woman croaked. "Please take a seat."

"_Certainly_, Ms. Kraznee," responded Clare as she sauntered up the aisle. As she neared the back of the classroom, I took out Frankenstein and began reading it, praying that this girl would realize how boring I was and would go sit in the front. But my plan failed. "In fact, I think I'll take this seat," she added, pushing a finger into my desk. When I looked up at her, the smile on her face had morphed into an angry frown and her eyebrows slanted in towards each other. "Get out of my desk, New Girl," she commanded. Normally, I would have done just so, but something strange came over me. I felt my chin pulling my head up so I was staring her straight in the eye. My lips parted, forming words that were not mine.

"No," I replied. "I kind of like this desk." A few gasps rose from the class, including one from my own mouth. What was I _doing_? Was this some epiphany I was having about confidence? _Now _of all times? I watched as red seeped onto the frazzled girl's cheeks. Her eyes were wide balloons that were threatening to pop any second now. I felt a small smile curl on my lips.

"I don't think you heard me correctly, New Girl," she gritted, slamming her palm on the desk. "Get. Out. Of. _My_. Desk." I let out a small laugh.

"_Your_ desk? Really? Is your _name_ written on it?" I heard myself tartly respond. Something wasn't right. I knew that you weren't supposed to use that remark unless your name was actually on the object in question and, as far as I could see, "Lydia" was not written on the desk.

Clare was about to give the expected, "Well, I don't see _your_ name on it," when she paused and stared at the desk top with wide eyes. My gaze followed hers. Lo and behold: "Lydia" was spelt out in small black spidery letters in the top right-hand corner of the desk. Clare's jaw slowly dropped open. Perplexed myself, I stared up at her, worried that she might report me to the teacher for vandalism. Getting revenge seemed to be the last thing on her mind. Now her entire face was red hot.

"Sometime _today_, Miss Brewster," Ms. Kraznee scolded her. The class burst out into giggles. Outraged, Clare let out an, "UGH!" and stormed towards front and center, the last seat available, and plopped herself into the chair. As Ms. Kraznee turned towards the board, the blonde glanced over her shoulder and leered at me. I thought that whatever was possessing me had finished, but apparently it wasn't. I briefly stuck my tongue out at her, and then reached into my bag to grab my notebook and pencil. The interior of the bag was quite chilly, and at first I believed that it was my cold water bottle, but my hand remained cold even when it had been sitting out of the bag for a while.

The notebook I took out had black and white vertical stripes. I tilted my head to the side as I held it in my hands. I couldn't recall buying it. The general store only sold mono-colored spiral notebooks. Perhaps Mother bought it before we left New York City and snuck it into my bag as a reminder of our old place.

For the remainder of the hour, I took only a few notes. My mind was preoccupied over what just happened. I couldn't conclude what came over me. For a while I believed it was the little people in my brain saying that it was time for me to stand up for myself and gain some confidence. But the little people in my brain wouldn't just say that! What was the motivation? Did my dismal thoughts about lifelong isolation convince my brain staff to make alterations? Was my dream of having a friend overcoming my insecurity?

"Wow, Lydia," Prudence said when she and Bertha approached me after class, "that was _amazing_! I mean, no one has the guts to stand up to _Clare Brewster_!"

"Yeah! How'd ya do it?" Bertha added. I shrugged, giving out a small nervous laugh.

"Well…uh…l-like my mother always says, you've got to take the upper hand in every situation or else people will walk all over you," I responded rather timidly. The girls smiled. I smiled back, feeling my eyes light up ever so slightly.

Whatever was going on, it was working wonders.

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To my dismay, Clare was in my lunch hour, but so were Bertha and Prudence. We happened to be in the largest lunch time, so all of the tables were filled outside by the time we reached the courtyard.

"Guess we'll have to eat in the bathroom again," Bertha said forlornly. The lanky girl turned and began walking towards the main entrance with Prudence in tow. I was about to follow them, but out of the corner of my eye I spotted a nice shady tree at the end of the courtyard. I turned to face them.

"Hey, you two!" I called. "Why don't we go sit under the tree?" They turned around, their eyes following to where I was pointing. The smiles that popped up on their faces told me that they had warmed up to the idea.

"EEEEW!" Clare cried from her spot. "You're actually going to sit on the _ground_?! Don't you know how _dirty_ it is, Lydia?" My smile melted away as I turned towards the evilly grinning girl. Girls looked up from their lunches and stared. All was quiet. I blinked a few times before turning to face Bertha and Prudence, who were standing away trembling nervously. I couldn't let Clare win. She was trying to embarrass me in front of as many people as possible. I sucked in a deep breath. I had no words to snap back at her, so I just continued walking towards the tree. I knelt on the grass and began unpacking my lunch. Bertha and Prudence stared at me like deer standing in the headlights.

"It looks clean to me," I said with a small shrug. That seemed to satisfy the pair and they walked over, setting down their own lunches on the grass. Mother packed me a vegetable wrap with celery sticks and vanilla yogurt. She made the tortilla herself, so I picked off the extra pieces and tossed them into the grass. Soon enough, groups of ants came along to roll the little bits away. I noticed how Bertha and Prudence squirmed uncomfortably whenever they caught sight of a bug, especially the beetles that lived on the tree. They seemed even more shocked when I didn't recoil like they did at the presence of the insects. They were just bugs. What's the big deal?

The long lunch hour ended and I separated from the group. Bertha and Prudence had Home Economics while I had Sewing. I had a feeling that Sewing was going to be my easiest and best class. Luckily, Clare was not in that class, so I was safe from her jeers for the time being. I was able to wind down a little bit and loosen up. I didn't have to worry about learning how to thread the needle. I didn't fret over the sizes of my stitches. I didn't struggle with trying the string off. Our assignment for the day was to sew two a patch to a larger piece of fabric. I did this in a matter of minutes and read for the rest of the hour.

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There were only two hours left of school. A lot can change in two hours. Someone can completely change her look. Another can completely change her reputation, or watch it change.

I excitedly entered my Hour 6 class with Bertha and Prudence next to me. They sat at a lab table together and I placed myself at the table behind them. For a while I thought I was going to have to do the first lab by myself, but the final girl showed up late.

Great, Clare was my lab partner.

She didn't seem too thrilled with the idea either. In fact, she even tried to switch tables with another girl, Sonya, but Sonya insisted on working with her friend Emily, so Clare and I were stuck together. She turned away from me and fluffed her hair in her pink hand mirror. Figuring it was the only way to get things done, I did the lab by myself. It was rather simple, just distilling wood. Maybe if we got an A on the project, Clare would not be mad at me anymore. I didn't really want to be her friend, but I didn't want anyone hating me.

While I was doing the lab, I did not notice the wavy movements in my bag, which I had kept on the table. It was too late when I realized that a small group of beetles had crawled into the bag. I pulled out my purple notebook for science class, causing the family to spill out. A silent gasp escaped from my mouth and I frantically tried to gather the little things before Clare saw them. She appeared to be too preoccupied with her hair. She hadn't even noticed that two of the beetles were crawling up her arm. Eyes wide, I quietly and gingerly tried to grab the insects and put them in my cupped left hand. The four I held in my hand wiggled and squirmed, tickling my hand, and I had to bite my tongue to prevent myself from giggling.

"EEEEK! THERE ARE BUGS ON MY ARM!" Clare shrieked as she tossed the mirror in the air. She hopped out of her seat and began jumping in hopes of shaking the poor beetles off of her. Most of the girls in the class burst into laughter at Clare's strange behavior. Bertha and Prudence stared wide-eyed. I frantically tried to put the other beetles back in my back, but they kept scrambling out of my cupped hand. Clare's wild, angry eyes turned towards me. My body froze. A couple beetles jumped out of my hand. "Are these _your_ bugs, Lydia?" she scoffed. "Are they your _friends_?" A few whispers travelled across the room. I bowed my head, my face hot with scarlet. The evil blonde let out a triumphant laugh. "Only a girl as weird and disgusting as you would keep…bleh…_beetles _in her book bag!"

"What's going on back there?" Mr. Hogsworth called, obviously oblivious to my turmoil.

"Nothing!" Clare sang back. I watched her glare at me, smiling demonically, before sitting down again. I looked at the ground in shame. My face still felt burning hot. Pressure built up behind my eyes. My entire body was trembling. There was nothing I could do or say to defend myself. It was over. Clare won. When the bell signifying the start of the last hour rang, I sprinted out of the classroom, avoiding all of the girls in my class, especially Bertha and Prudence. I didn't care if I got in trouble for cutting class. I couldn't face the murmurs of spreading rumors. I ran into the bathroom. After tossing the beetle family out the first floor window and letting them fly away, I locked myself in one of the tiny bathroom stalls. I sat curled up on the toilet. My hair draped over most of my face. I peeked through the crack between the stall wall and the door on occasion, seeing my wide uncovered eye's reflection in the mirror above the sinks. I waited in the silence.

When the bell rang to end the day, I did not leave the bathroom. I remained in the stall until the voices outside died down. Once I was certain the school was empty, I stalked towards the entrance, making sure that no one saw me. I fumbled with opening my bike lock because my hands were still shaking. I finally managed to free my bike from the rack and quickly peddled away. I didn't bother to go to the cemetery. This time I went straight home, pumping my legs as fast as they could go. I sped over the fixed bridge and up the hill. The entire world seemed to be spinning when I parked my bike. My hair fanned out ever so slightly from the blazing wind. I could feel tears squeezing out. I wiped them away instantly. I couldn't let the tears escape yet. I ran inside, not bothering to remove my Mary-Janes. I just kept running through the halls, up the stairs, and into my room. I wasn't safe yet. I fell to my knees, sniffing back mucus, and crawled around in search of the loose floorboard with the hidden brass key. My limbs were shaking. I found the key and ran to the attic stairway. My bag bounced against me as I ran. My legs carried me up the stairs, sometimes tripping over the wood, but I kept going. My trembling hands fumbled with the key and struggled to turn it. Finally, I tripped into the small room and shut the door with a slam, pressing my back against it. The key fell out of my grasp. With my back still against the door, I slowly allowed my body to slide down. I bowed my head, letting it land in my waiting palms.

And I cried.


	5. Ghosts

**Chapter Five: Ghosts**

October marked our third month living in Winter River. In the three months we lived there, Mother had a grand total of zero new sculptures, Father had a grand total of zero hours of relaxation, and I had a grand total of zero friends. My grades were suffering, except for sewing in which I was getting an A+.

"It's so unlike her," I heard Mother telling Father in the kitchen before breakfast. "Lydia's normally a bright girl, what could possibly be going on?" When I padded into the kitchen, there was a brief silence. Though I had my back facing them, I knew that my parents were staring at me. I continued packing the poorly constructed egg and cucumber sushi rolls Mother made. Instead of bringing a paper bag, I put the sushi rolls in my black bento box from Chinatown. I left for school without saying goodbye.

Thank God for Fridays. The sooner the weekend commenced, the better. I rode my bike at a fast pace, passing the cemetery on my way. I planned on getting out of school as early as possible so I could ride to the cemetery unnoticed. I still had yet to find Adam and Barbara's graves. Maybe today would be the lucky day.

Throughout the day, I sketched some new designs or read behind my textbooks while planning out my Friday night in my head. I initially hoped on watching "Night of the Living Dead", but then I remembered that my video tape of it got destroyed during the move. Maybe the General Store had it. Perhaps I could finish my next album, or read some Poe in the attic.

When the final bell rang, I sprinted out of my seat and to my bike before anyone could catch me. Just as I unlocked my bike, I noticed Bertha and Prudence running towards me, waving their hands and calling out my name. I ignored them and peddled away. Why would they want to hang out with creepy, gross Lydia? They were probably just pretending to want to be my friends just to make fun of me. Sighing, I pushed up the hill with Old Spooky, the ancient gnarled tree. People said that a monster lived in Spooky's mouth, but I had yet to see it. After waving to the tree, I continued on my way. The cemetery was not too far from Miss Shannon's, but I took the back way to avoid being spotted. I still hadn't seen the entire cemetery, which was quite big for a small town. The nice part about it was that rarely anyone came to visit, so a lot of times it was just me and the dead.

I repeated each name I laid my eyes on, hoping that the spirits with those forgotten names were being replenished like the book promised. I came across many Adam's and many Barbara's, but they were in scattered places throughout the cemetery. I searched the place for hours with no avail. Sighing a discontented sigh, I figured that it was time to head home, so I grabbed my bike and began peddling towards town. The first order of business was to see if my movie was stocked. To my dismay, it wasn't. In fact, the General Store only stocked films based off of Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals along with some old Disney movies. I settled for "Oklahoma!" and "The King and I" because I knew that _someone_ died in each one, which was probably the closest I was going to get to zombies.

I was welcomed home by the pounding of a jackhammer against stone. Mother must have been working on a new sculpture. Something told me that Father was hiding in his study, most likely in fetal position under his desk. After parking my bike against the side wall of the house, I ran to the sanctuary of the locked attic. Luckily, the old television was paired with a VCR, so I popped "Oklahoma!" in and sat back on the dusty couch.

In the end, Curley killed the bad guy, Judd. The blood was totally fake. I felt kind of sorry for Judd. For his whole life he was isolated in his lonely room. People were afraid of him and avoided him as much as possible. All the poor guy wanted was love. But, then again, he was sort of a rapist so I didn't feel too bad when he was killed.

I wasn't too impressed with the movie, so I decided against watching "The King and I". Instead I decided to get ready for bed, even though it was only about seven at night. I really liked my black nightgown. I made it out of the same material most of my clothes were constructed with. The nightgown had a lower V-neck, longer and looser sleeves, and reached the ground. I liked to call it my vampire dress.

I was lying on my bed with the lights off when I heard the moans through the walls. For a while I thought it was Mother and Father's television, but then the sounds escalated to higher volumes. There were two voices, a man's and a woman's. Great. These strange moans could only mean one thing.

"Cut it out!" I yelled into the wall as I pounded it with my fist. "I'm a child, for God's sakes," I muttered as I crawled back into bed. How does a ten year old girl know about this kind of stuff? Well, when you grow up surrounded by eccentric New York adults, you learn things. The people Mother knew in New York were not so keen on censorship. Sometimes they would start talking about sex to my Mother when I was standing right next to her. In order to prevent an embarrassing situation, Mother said nothing about the inappropriateness of the conversation and let the person talk until he was through. It was pretty sickening.

The moaning did not stop. In fact, it seemed to get louder. The hinges of a door whined. I heard footsteps stomping in the hallway. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the first camera my hands found, the one that automatically produced prints, and quietly snuck out. Maybe I could catch them in the act and use the pictures as blackmail.

Though the hallway was dark, I could see my parents' figures toddling down the hallway. They were wearing Mother's $300 designer sheets. I carefully tip-toed behind them, keeping close to the ground so I could get in front of them. My all-black attire helped me blend in with the shadows. When they stopped moaning for a little bit, I knew it was my time to strike.

I began snapping as many pictures as I could. The flash popped, died out, and quickly popped back up again with each shot.

"Gross! Sexual perversion! If you guys are gonna do that weird sexual stuff, do it in your own bedroom!" Mother and Father swayed about, holding their arms over their eyes to protect them from the flashes. I kept going on like this for about a minute. Finally I stopped and reached to turn on a light, and then I bent down and grabbed one of the pictures that had just finished developing.

My eyes nearly popped out at what I saw. A pair of designer sheets floating in the air. There were no feet. This was it. This was my definite proof. This house was haunted. My fingers loosened their grasp and the photo fluttered to the ground. I took a few slow steps towards them. They didn't move. I couldn't see their faces, though I really wanted to.

"Are you the guys hiding out in the attic?" I asked. The one in the checkered sheet lifted his finger.

"We're ghoooooosts!" he said, pointing his finger at me. The one in the flowered sheet added a few "Oooooh"s for a scary effect, but they weren't fooling me. I took one final step and reached my finger out. I put it in one of the eye holes in the checkered sheet and pulled it down so I could peek in. All I saw were a pair of shocked eyes hiding behind a pair of glasses.

"What do you look like under there?" I asked. The ghost pulled away.

"Aren't you scared?" he asked. I let out a small laugh.

"I'm not scared of sheets," I responded. "Are you gross under there?" I added excitedly. I couldn't believe it. I was actually about to see a ghost! Were the zombie movies true? Were they really decaying and falling apart at the seams? "Are you night of the living dead under there? Like all bloody veins and pus?" The anticipation was bubbling up inside of me. I just had to see what was under those ugly sheets! Unable to contain myself, I bent down and tried pulling the sheet off of the ghost, but he stopped me.

"Wait, wait, night of the what?" he questioned. I tilted my head to the side.

"Living dead, it's a movie." How did he not know what "Night of the Living Dead" was? But I forgave him. After all, he lived in a town in the middle of nowhere. They didn't have a movie theater or anything that would connect them to the rest of America. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the other ghost pulling off her sheet. She revealed herself as the woman with the dark brown curly hair I saw in the window on our renovation day. She was a lot younger than I expected her to be. The other ghost removed his sheet. So these people were Adam and Barbara. I had to say I was a little disappointed, since I was expecting decomposing flesh and lost limbs, but I was also overjoyed to finally see real ghosts.

"You know, if I saw a ghost at your age I would've been scared out of my wits!" Barbara exclaimed.

"You're not gross," I muttered. "Why are you wearing sheets?"

"We're practicing," responded Barbara, a little dejectedly.

"How is it that you can see us and nobody else can?" Adam asked. That was a good question. For a moment I wasn't sure how to respond, but then I heard a voice in my mind repeating, "Strange and unusual," over and over again.

"Well, I read your Handbook for the Recently Deceased," I replied. "It said, 'Live people ignore the strange and unusual.'" I paused, shrugging. "I myself _am_…strange and unusual." My eyes trailed to Barbara, who was shrugging.

"You look like a regular girl to me," she commented. Hot crimson seeped onto my cheeks. No one had ever told me I was normal, not even my parents. It was nice to be considered part of the group, part of the accepted people.

"You read our book?" Adam inquired. I nodded. "You could follow it?"

"Yeah," I replied quickly. Now I had some questions of my own. "Why were you guys sneaking around in my parents' bedroom?"

"We were trying to scare your mother," the male ghost said. I let out a chuckle.

"You can't scare her. She's sleeping with Prince Valium tonight," I said as I crossed my arms. Smiles crept onto their pale faces. My lips curled into a small smile as well.

They invited me to the attic with them, but I had to grab the key before that. Quickly I swept up the myriad of ghost pictures I took and tossed them into my room. After putting the camera away, I snatched the key from its place under the floorboard and ran after them. We left the sheets in the bathroom and went into the attic. The first thing I asked about was the model, and I found out that Adam had built it from scratch. It wasn't complete though, and he couldn't finish it.

"Why do you want to scare everybody?" I questioned next.

"We want to frighten you away," Adam replied, looking at the model in an embarrassed way. "So that you'll move out." Again I let out a small laugh and began circling around the corner of the model.

"You obviously don't know the Deetzes very well. My father bought this place. He never walks away from equity." I stopped in my spot and then took a few quiet steps towards them. I looked up at them, my eyes darting between the couple. "Why don't you leave?" I asked, my voice a little quieter. It was just a simple question, but after I said it I wished I didn't. Adam and Barbara were the only potential friends I had now. They seemed to understand me a little. If they left, I would have no one.

"We can't," responded Barbara, much to my relief. "We haven't left the house since the funeral." My eyes widened slightly.

"Funeral," I exhaled, taking another excited step towards them. My entire face lit up. "God…you guys _really are dead_!" I let out a huge sigh. "This is amazing!"

"Lydia!" Father called. Oh great, he must've found the sheets or something.

"Gotta go," I said sadly. Just as I began walking towards the door, Barbara reached out and touched my shoulder. The contact was icy cold and I jumped when I turned to face her. She looked at me with kind eyes.

"I don't think it would be a good idea to tell your parents we're up here," she said a little sternly.

"Unless you think it'll scare them off," Adam added. "You tell them we're horrible ghoulish creatures who will stop at _nothing_ to get our house back." There was a pause. Father called my name again, but I didn't go. I simply stared at the two of them, collecting my thoughts. Was this really happening to me? Was I actually meeting a pair of real live ghosts? What if…

"What if this is a dream?" I asked pensively. "Can you guys do any tricks to prove I'm not dreaming?" Another pause. Barbara and Adam bowed their heads for a moment, looking at each other with small frowns and sad eyes. Barbara looked at me and slowly shook her head. Did they think I would not want to visit them anymore? Ghosts or not, they were still my friends. "Well, if you are real ghosts, you better get another routine because those sheets don't work!"

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Ghosts. Real, bona-fide, in-the-flesh ghosts. I glued the last of the good ghost pictures I took into my, "Lydia's Life" scrapbook. Scrapbooking and photography was Mother's prime hobby before she got into sculpting. The first few years of my scrapbook served as a miniature baby book, but I took it over once I learned how to use scissors. The pages were filled with baby pictures of me, looking as ghostly pale as ever. It seemed like my hair got darker with every year that passed by. People joked that when I was old, I would still have that head of pitch black hair. The pages Mother did were colorful and filled with pictures containing people. The ones I did stuck to a color pallet of red, dark purple, gray, and shades of black, while the pictures were landscapes, still-lifes, and abstracts. The only ones of people were the three best ones of Adam and Barbara in sheet form.

I was banished to my room for the weekend. Father found the sheets when he went to the bathroom and told Mother, who nearly had a heart attack when she laid her eyes on the holes. Being grounded didn't really matter though. I lived all of my weekends in my room. Why should this one be any different?

My vampire alarm clock said that it was just about twelve o'clock. Lunch would be ready soon. When I was grounded, I was only allowed out of my room for meals and bathroom breaks. Expecting to hear Mother's shrill call any minute, I began packing away my scrapbooking materials. There was a little drawer in my nightstand that I kept these things in. Once everything was clean, I wandered towards the small balcony. I unlocked the doors and opened them, allowing a cool refreshing autumn breeze in. My scarlet curtains lightly swayed with the wind. I stepped outside and gripped the black iron bars. Though it was somewhat warm outside, the iron was cold to the touch. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. As I exhaled, a cloud slowly began passing over the sun. The zephyr picked up speed. Wind that could barely cause my bangs to brush tossed my shoulder-length hair. Leaves jumped off of the ground and danced in swirls. The tree on our lawn leaned over in one direction, following the strong gusts of wind. The glass windows began shaking. Nervously, I stepped back inside, closing the windows and locking them tight. The curtains fell back into place. I pressed my back to the glass doors. My eyes trailed to the large carpet covering my wooden floor. A spidery spiral started in the middle and circled until it reached the outside. The spiral itself was white while the background color was black. Strange. The background color was supposed to be pink while the spiral was red. Mother must have thought the new color looked better with my room.

"Lydia! Lunch time!" Mother's voice rang, jarring the quiet serenity of my bedroom.

"Coming, Mother!" I called back. Before going downstairs, I got down on my knees and reached under my bed, taking out the box with my voodoo dolls. I opened the box and took out one of the pictures I saved of Adam and Barbara. For a few moments I held it delicately in my hands, staring at it and pondering. Was now the right time to tell Mother and Father about my new friends? I stood and began walking to the door, but then I stopped. I pivoted, facing my bed once more. What if Mother made us move back to New York?

I stashed the photo into the box. I wouldn't let my friends be taken away from me.


	6. Christmas Wishes

**Chapter Six: Christmas Wishes**

Tomorrow night will be Christmas Eve. Mother and Father were never really that religious, but we celebrated Christmas anyway. A fresh, real green tree sat next to the fireplace decorated in strange home-made ornaments. For once we were able to get a real tree, which proved to be a treat for Father.

I never really asked for much on Christmas, since my birthday was in November. I always got something photography related, usually in the form of new albums or little accessories for my cameras. I couldn't possibly think of another thing I absolutely needed. It seemed like I had everything a budding photographer needed.

The one other thing I wanted was something my parents could not give me. It was to be accepted among my classmates. Even though befriending Adam and Barbara gave me a boost of confidence, I still doubted myself to a degree. But things were also looking brighter. My grades were improving because I was happier.

It's a start.

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"What do you guys want for Christmas?" I asked my two ghostly friends during one of my attic visits. I watched them let out a simultaneous sigh as they looked at each other sadly. Barbara leaned her head onto Adam's shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her.

"We want our home back," Barbara replied quietly. My gaze somberly switched to the ground. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I raised my head ever so slightly.

"We know you're trying hard, Lydia," Adam said with a weak smile. "And Barbara and I are so thankful that you're helping us." I tried smiling too, but it didn't work so well. Guilt piled heavily on my shoulders. I still had yet to tell my parents about them. I was supposed to say that my new friends were horrible ghouls that would stop at nothing to get their house back. I told Adam and Barbara that my parents just weren't listening to me, while in fact I said nothing for them to not listen to.

"Anything for a friend," I added quietly. Smiling, the two pulled me into a long hug. The embrace did not last long because Father called me down for dinner. I pulled out and waved goodbye, promising that I would be there tomorrow.

And when I returned the next day, they were waiting for me with open arms.

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There was only one more day of school left before our winter vacation. The school days before a long break tended to seem longer than all other school days. This greatly annoyed me, since school days were long enough already.

Snow covered all of the lawns in Winter River, but the streets were clear, so I was able to ride my bike. Mother strongly insisted that she drive me, but I strongly insisted back that I was fine and didn't need a ride to school. It was quite cold though, so I had a harder time breathing as I peddled, but I made it just in time for homeroom attendance.

I sat in the back of the classroom for math in the same spot I won from Clare. Today I decided to actually take notes in my white and black striped notebook. I slowly began to lose interest in graphing data and decided to doodle instead. My eyes trailed to the windows. Snow just began sprinkling down and started covering the roads in lace. Back when I was really young, Father and I would go to Central Park and have a snowball fight whenever it snowed. That was back before he lost his nerves. He was a lot more carefree back then and loved playing games with me. Even though I was bad at throwing snowballs at the age of four, we still managed to have a good time. I never had snowball fights with the neighborhood kids because they avoided me. I began sketching the biggest snowball fight math notes had ever seen. Father and I played among a large cast of anonymous figures. Every face wore a smile. Every character had a blast. When the bell rang, I had just finished my sketch. Wearing a small smile, I gathered my things and went to my next class.

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"Lydia, over here!" Bertha called from the table she and Prudence were sharing. I turned towards them, a nervous smile on my lips. I clutched my paper bag lunch. My fingernails made deep markings in them. Quickly I shook my head in hopes of tossing the nerves away. With a confident smile, I approached the table and took a seat.

"Thanks," I said happily as I began unpacking my lunch, leftover egg rolls and noodles from last night's dinner. For a while, the only sounds to be heard at our table were the shuffling of paper bags and chewing. Bertha and Prudence simply looked at the food they were eating. Was this how they always ate lunch, or was my addition making the atmosphere awkward? The silence was starting to bug me, so I figured that I should start a conversation. "So…uh…what are you two doing over the winter vacation?" The question seemed to perk the pair up.

"O-oh! I-I'm going to North Dakota to visit my mom's family!" Prudence exclaimed. She brought her little hands to her glasses and shifted them slightly.

"My family and I are going to Florida to see my grandparents," Bertha added. "That's where they retired." Unsure how to respond, I let out a small giggle from my throat.

"What about you, Lydia?" Prudence inquired. I shrugged as I finished chewing my egg roll.

"I'm not really doing anything special, just staying here with the family."

"Well, I'm sure _your_ family's a lot more exciting than mine!" Prudence replied.

"Yeah," Bertha chirped in. "Being with my grandparents is like watching paint dry!"

And before we knew it, the bell for the next hour rang. We let out a collective groan as we left the cafeteria and went our separate ways. I never realized how much fun those two were. I sort of felt bad for not giving them a chance when I got here. I was so caught up in my self pity that I didn't realize until now that they were genuinely being nice to me.

I gathered my project for sewing class and sat down at a table. The fifth grade assignment was to make an apron. My design was definitely far from the norm. While the other girls in my class worked with floral prints and pastels, I chose a spooky theme for mine. The apron itself was deep purple with red trim. The skirt of the apron's design was the black silhouette of three witches surrounding a cauldron filled with a bubbling green substance. In yellow the words, "Double, double, toil and trouble, Fire burn and cauldron bubble," were printed on the torso. The words alone took me two weeks to complete. Today we had about ten minutes to finish our aprons, and then we would make presentations to the class.

"Who would like to make the first presentation?" Mrs. Rodgers asked. Not a single girl raised her hand. I looked around, seeing lowered eyes. If this took place earlier in the year, I would have shrunk back in my seat. However, something new came over me, and this time the change was mine, not through possession. I sat up a little straighter in my seat and raised my hand.

"I'll go, Mrs. Rodgers," I said. The teacher nodded and gestured towards the front of the classroom. My heart began thudding loudly in my chest. What have I done? Now I'll have to present my weird project to the class! When I was making this apron, I hid in the back of the classroom so no one would see it. Showing it to everyone was like me asking to be mocked for the rest of my school days. Still, I got myself into it, so I had to go through. I took a deep breath and unraveled my work. Gasps rose and pairs of eyes widened. "Uh…um…this is my apron," I began, my voice and legs trembling. "I…I was inspired by the play 'Macbeth' by Shakespeare. I decided to use this design because I thought that three witches cooking a potion would be appropriate for an apron." There was a pause. Absolute silence. "Um…thank you." For a brief moment, nothing happened, but then someone started clapping. This started a chain reaction of small applause. During the time we had after presentations, I found many girls coming to my table to get a closer look at my apron. Their eyes were wide with awe and fascination. They weren't scared at all! With each compliment I received, I felt the smile on my face get bigger and the light in my eyes get brighter.

I went to science class floating on elation. Since our first day of class, we had switched seats. I now sat at a table in the middle of the classroom with Prudence as my partner. Bertha sat at the table behind us with a girl named Nicole as her lab partner. Before today, Prudence and I rarely spoke. When we had to work together, we would quickly divide the work and do our own ends separately. This time, we had a small conversation with Bertha before class began.

In the middle of the lecture, Nicole tapped my shoulder. She quickly gave me a note and whipped her attention back to the board. I quietly unfolded the paper and read it.

_Only one class left until winter break!!! –Bertha_

My lips curled into a smile. No one had ever given me a note during class before. Tingles played excitedly in my stomach. The tingles spread to my fingers as I wrote the reply message.

_I'm so excited! -Lydia_

Carefully I passed the note back to Nicole, who threw it out of her hands like it was infected or something. I glanced over my shoulder to see Bertha's reaction, but Mr. Hogsworth caught me.

"Miss Deetz! Pay attention!"

A few girls snickered, but I didn't shrink back into my seat with red cheeks. In fact, I didn't really care that I got yelled at. I did not deny the second note that was offered to me.

_Meet Prudence and me in the courtyard after school –Bertha_

I let out an inaudible gasp when I read this note. Never in my entire life had I been invited to hang out with friends after school. It must have been a miracle or something! I grabbed my pen and quickly scribbled down a reply message while Mr. Hogsworth had his back turned and passed back my response.

_Okay! -Lydia_

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I stood in the courtyard, my arms wrapped around my messenger bag. I had sprinted out of history class to get here early. Bertha and Prudence had last hour gym class, so they were probably still getting changed into their regular clothes. My breaths came out in little puffs. My legs were trembling from the freezing cold. I could feel my nose turning bright red. But I couldn't leave. I had to wait for my new friends.

Girls began to file out of the school, but none of them were Bertha or Prudence. A heavy sigh escaped my lips. Maybe they weren't coming. I began slowly walking towards the bike rack, bumping past the rushing, excitedly screaming girls. I must have been the only girl in the whole school wearing a frown at that very moment. The moment I grasped the handle bars of the bike, I heard someone cry, "Heads up!" But the call was too late. Something cold, white, and hard had hit my cheek. The thing detached itself from my face and plummeted to the ground with a light fluffy plop. The icy cold red mark on my cheek could only mean one thing: a snowball.

I ducked down and began making my own artillery. Flakes of snow fluttered past me and delicately peppered my eyelashes. My line of vision was constantly switching between areas of the courtyard. For a while my opponents remained still, but suddenly I saw another bomb of white coming my way. I managed to dodge this one and in the process I spotted my target: a flash of orange.

"I see you, Prudence!" I shouted playfully as I tossed a snowball her way. Another snowball hit me in the back of my head. Laughing, I called, "I'm gonna get you, Bertha!" The brunette squealed and ran out of her hiding spot, pelting snow balls at me. My only way to defend myself was to dive out of the way while throwing my own ammo. The battle continued for what seemed like forever until the three of us fell down with a collective sigh. We lay on the snow for a while, silent, until I found myself beginning to laugh. At first it started out as a small giggle, but then it continued escalating to higher volumes. I had never laughed this hard before in my life. Soon enough, Bertha and Prudence joined in. My stomach stung when I sat up, still giggling. The three of us sat together in the snow, laughing at absolutely nothing, our voices creating a wonderful melody that expressed our friendship. Three oddballs. Apart, we were strange, but together we were the perfect team.

That's all I wanted for Christmas.


	7. Family

**Chapter Seven: Family**

"Hi Barbara! Hi Adam!" I called as I opened the door to the attic. Barbara looked up from the handbook. She must've been re-reading one of the chapters for the fifth time that day. Adam looked up from the model. He must've been trying to figure out where his and Barbara's graves were for the twentieth time. I shut the door with my butt because I was carrying a couple of cardboard boxes in my arms. "I got the supplies you wanted," I added as I placed the boxes on the side-table near the model. Adam smiled excitedly as he went over to open the packages.

"How was school?" Barbara asked. I placed my messenger bag on the ground, but I took something out. It was my bug cage, the one that Adam built me as a Christmas present.

"Great!" I responded happily, holding up the cage in front of my face. "Look what I found! We went outside in science class to collect bugs!"

"I'm glad that they're not keeping you girls locked up in the classroom," Barbara remarked as she observed the caterpillar crawling around in its new habitat. "Especially since it's such a lovely day." Her gaze forlornly turned to the window for a moment. I felt kind of guilty for bringing in the bug now. It was a reminder of the outside. Barbara loved nature so much, so being stuck inside the house was hell for her. Adam approached us and took off his glasses, squinting his eyes for a better view of the caterpillar.

"I've never seen caterpillars with those markings," he added. The bug did look a little strange. He was a fuzzy little guy with thick black and white stripes.

"Yeah, Mr. Hogsworth said those markings are pretty rare in this area," I replied. The silence that followed my last statement told me that it was time to change the subject. "So…um…how did your last haunt go?" I asked. Adam and Barbara figured that haunting my parents might convince them to move away, since I failed to do so. If my parents decided to move away, I would never see my friends again, but I couldn't stand to see them so depressed. The guilt got heavier with each missed opportunity to bring up our ghost inhabitants.

"Your father's started noticing some of our tricks," Adam said with a small smile. "But your mother is a different story." I rolled my eyes. Of course, now that Mother made the house her own, she wasn't going to give it up easily. Poor Father must've been more of a nervous wreck than he already was.

"I'll see if I can do anything at dinner," I said with a small smile.

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"Delia, please tell me we're _not_ having spaghetti," Father groaned as he took his seat at the dinner table. Mother rolled her eyes.

"Oh, Charles, don't get so hyped up," she replied tartly. She opened the cover of the serving platter, revealing her famous Omni-loaf with broccoli and herb potatoes. When Father eyed the meal, he didn't seem to ease up at all. "Hand me your plate, Lydia," Mother commanded, ignoring Father's squirming. I held out my black square plate and she started giving me my helpings.

"I can do it myself, Mother," I grumbled. "I'm eleven years old."

"You wouldn't take any food if I let you do it yourself," Mother chided. She handed me the plate. Already the nauseating stench of the Omni-loaf began to fill my nostrils, and the gravy she dumped on it didn't really help. Father and I called it an Omni-loaf as opposed to a meatloaf because Mother just threw whatever was in the fridge in a baking dish, mixed it together, and baked it, regardless of what we had for leftovers. I had to cut off the stems of the over-steamed broccoli and push them to the sides of the plate. The only things I ate whole were the herb potatoes, which were actually quite good for something Mother made.

"Father, are you okay?" I asked when I saw he was still fidgeting.

"He's just all worked up because he thought I was trying to feed him _worms_ for lunch," Mother briskly responded.

"I'm serious!" Father exclaimed. "There were real live _worms_ on my plate!"

"You were just having hallucinations, Charles," Mother concluded. "I think you should go to bed extra early tonight."

"Yeah," Father grumbled, "and then I'll be haunted by bed sheets." I turned away sheepishly. I managed to snag some more bed sheets from Mother and gave them to Adam and Barbara for Christmas, along with voodoo dolls that looked like them. He got up and brought his plate to the kitchen. We then heard his tired, heavy footsteps lunging up the stairs and into his bedroom.

"Mother," I said, trying to sound sweet but serious at the same time, "maybe it would be best for Father if we moved back to New York." Mother stood, her silverware clacking against her plate.

"Out of the question," she replied curtly. "We've spent all this money transforming this dump. Now I'd like to get at least five or ten good years out of it." Sighing, I leaned back into my chair, still picking at the Omni-loaf. If Father wasn't allergic to dogs, this main course would be gone by now. I cut the thing to pieces and spread it around a little to make it look like I ate some, then I got up and put the plate by the sink. Before Mother could spot me, I ran up to my bedroom and shut the door. I had a sewing project to work on.

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During Home Economics, I baked a small "chocolate explosion" cake for Mother. This coming weekend was Mother's Day, and it was our assignment to make a nice dessert for our mothers. But months before May, I already started working on another gift, which took much longer and much more work than the cake did.

When I was finally free from my family for a little while, I rushed up to the attic with my gift in hand. I knocked three times on the door to let them know it was me and Adam let me in. Barbara was sitting dejectedly at the window sill. I knew what was wrong. In the months before they died, Adam and Barbara were trying to get pregnant, but it wasn't working out. I knew that Barbara wanted more than anything to be a mother. Now that she was dead, she never could be one.

"Hi Barbara," I said as I stood next to her. I held out the gift. "I made this for you." Wiping away a tear, Barbara thanked me and gingerly took the box out of my hands. She carefully unwrapped it, ripping the paper silently. Adam and I stood around her, our heads bowed as we watched her open the present. Adam knew what the present was. My smile was wide and beaming and my toes tapped with excitement as she opened the box. When the lid came off, she revealed a voodoo doll version of me to the world. This doll had my jet black hair made of yarn, pale skin made of white cloth, and black clothes. The only difference was the button eyes. Barbara brought a hand to her gaping mouth, eyes wide as she stared at the gift. "In case my family decides to move away, you'll have something to remember me by." Barbara stood and the box fell off of her lap. When she hugged me, I felt hot tears trickling down my cheek. Adam joined in and wrapped his arms around the both of us. The embrace we shared was warm. The warmth itself was not caused my temperature, but our hearts. The warmth was the kind you feel when you're around those you care about, and those who care about you in return. It was the same type of warmth I felt when I was with Bertha and Prudence, only stronger. Barbara, Adam, and I were closer than friends. Adam was my second father. Barbara was my second mother.

After being released, I shuffled over to where they kept their Christmas presents from me. I took the dolls in my hands and set them up in the window sill. Barbara set the doll of me between them.

"Look," I said with a small smile, "the whole family's together."


	8. The Other Side

**Chapter Eight: The Other Side**

The caterpillar was acting very strange. He kept standing as erect as he could go and swaying back and forth. I wrote these behaviors down in my science notebook. For a while I thought it was just something caterpillars do to stretch, but this caterpillar insisted on doing it over and over again. Every time I turned to look at my little guy, he was doing that tick-tock motion in perfect time with the classroom clock. The caterpillar just kept swaying and swaying. It was kind of relaxing actually, like watching a swinging pendulum. The calm motion made my eyes close and my thoughts drift away.

_Out of time_.

A deep-throated voice was speaking to me. My eyes darted about my surroundings. There were no walls encasing me in a room, only shadows. I was standing on a platform of some sort. The floor's design matched the swirling print of my rug, but the colors were black and white. My mind started to spin from looking at the floor, so I raised my chin and looked up.

_Running out of time._

There was that voice again ringing in my ears. The words echoed throughout the space I was standing in. I kept looking around. Where was this voice coming from? I tried stepping forward a little, but the platform gave away just as I stared putting pressure on my foot. Gasping I took a step back to the center, which seemed to be the only stable place.

_Time. Time. Time. Running out. Out of time. _

"Who are you?" I called, my voice echoing. I only heard the deep-throated scratchy voice respond to me with the same words it had been speaking. I twirled in my spot, wide-eyed and confused. "Who? W-who's running out of time?" I questioned. My voice was shaking.

_He's running out of time._

"Who?" I cried into the shadows.

_Chucky! Chucky! He's running out of time! Running out! _

The voice began fading away, repeating the unknown name over and over again until it diminished into nothingness. I stood alone on the platform. Who was Chucky? Names buzzed in my mind, but I could not put those names to a familiar face. Chucky? Chucky? Chuck? Chuck? Chuck? Chark? Char? Charle? Charle? Charles?

Charles.

Father.

"Father!" I screamed when my head shot up. The girls in the class giggled.

"Why yes, Miss Deetz," Mr. Hogsworth replied, "Gregor Mendel _is_ the father of genetics." He turned to write the word on the chalkboard.

"N-no!" I exclaimed as I stood. I began gathering my things. "He's in trouble! I have to go help him!"

"Wait! You can't just leave in the middle of class!"

But I had sprinted off.

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I frantically peddled up the hill to the house. A small white ambulance sat in our driveway. I jumped off the bike and let it slam into the grass. I ran inside, my legs shaking with each step. I nearly collapsed on the floor when I entered the house, but I kept going, screaming for my parents.

"Lydia?" Mother finally called from the living room. I felt hot tears streaming down my face as I ran to her.

"Where's Father? Where is he? Is he all right?" I cried as she embraced me.

"They just took him into the ambulance. He's going to be fine, don't worry," Mother replied, trying to reassure me. I felt her hand patting my upper back.

"What happened?" I asked, my voice quieter.

"Something…something scared him," responded Mother. "The doctor said that sudden shock mixed with a great amount of stress can cause someone to have something similar to a heart attack." I let out a gasp. My heart had skipped a beat. My eyes were bugging out. Mother hugged me tighter. "He'll be fine, don't worry, darling," she said before standing up. "I'm going to drive to the hospital later and stay over night with him, but first I have to find you a babysitter." Quickly I shook my head.

"No, Mother, it's okay. You don't have to get me a babysitter. I'll be fine by myself." I wiped away my remaining tears and sniffed back some mucus.

"Are you sure?" Mother asked. I just nodded. Letting out a small sigh, Mother went to get her coat. "I may as well go now then. Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"Yes, Mother, I'll be fine," I reiterated. I sat on the stairs and waited for her to gather all her things. She told me that there were leftovers in the fridge I could heat up and reminded me where the emergency numbers were. It was kind of strange. In a time of crisis, she could actually act like a real mom.

The minute she locked the door, I ran up the stairs. After grabbing my attic key, I sprinted up that staircase and opened the door as quickly as I could. My head was still spinning. My legs were a pair of limp wet noodles. My hands shivered. I was in such a rush that I didn't notice the green light. When I finally got in, I saw the open brick door letting in the green.

"Adam! Barbara!" I called into the green space. They must have just opened the door because they were only halfway to the vanishing point of the void. They turned around, eyes wide with shock. I ran in, feeling myself getting more and more exhausted with each step. The pair met me halfway and began pushing me closer to the entrance.

"What are you doing?" Adam exclaimed.

"Where are you going?" I countered.

"Lydia, we're so sorry!" Barbara gasped, her eyes stained with tears.

"About what?"

"Your father," Adam cut in, choking on his words. His gaze was on the ground. "Lydia, what happened to your father was _our_ fault." I stared at them with wide eyes. I could feel tears threatening to escape, pressure building up behind my eyes. A lump knotted itself in my throat. Why? How? How could they do something like this? I thought they were my friends.

"Lydia, please, please forgive us," Barbara pleaded. "It was a mistake. We didn't know that your father would react this way. All we wanted…all we wanted was our home…" I took in a few deep breaths. They were my family. I had to forgive them. I raised my head. They were both staring at me with wide, begging eyes. Father was going to be okay. He wasn't going to die. It was just a mistake. I slowly nodded. They both relaxed their grips a little, sighing with relief.

"Where are you going?" I tried again with a more muted voice.

"We have to go to the Neitherworld," Adam replied softly.

"How long will you be gone?" I watched Adam bite his lower lip and lower his eyes once more. His grip on my shoulder tightened. Barbara shook her head, her gaze lowered as well.

"Forever," Barbara finally said. I began pushing again, but the two of them were stronger. I was sliding closer and closer to the entrance.

"Let me go too!" I cried. My heart was beating faster and faster, thudding loudly in my ears. I was coming face to face with my worst fear. I was going to lose them. I pushed harder. "Please, let me come with you!"

"No!" Barbara shouted sternly. "Lydia, you will die if you cross to the other side with us." I shook my head back and forth.

"I want to be dead too," I wailed quietly. "If it means being with you."

"Lydia," Barbara said comfortingly, "you have such a promising life ahead of you. Don't throw it away on our behalf."

"We won't be completely gone, we promise," Adam added, looking at me square in the eyes. "We'll always be with you." They released their pressure on me. For a moment I stood there, eyes lowered, the lump in my throat getting bigger. My family was leaving me. They were going to die. Finally, I jumped forward, hugging both of them tightly at the same time. Please don't go, my inner voice wailed. Please, please, please don't go! But they were going.

"We love you, Lydia," Barbara said quietly before letting go. They turned around and began walking towards the vanishing point. I wanted to shout out and tell them to wait, but my voice was not cooperating. All I could do was produce watery choking sounds. Come back! Don't go! Let me go too! I gripped the doorway, digging my fingernails into the brick and hearing some of them snap. I swallowed back all of the grief I wanted to cry out for the last moment I saw them.

"I love you too!" I finally pushed out just before they disappeared.

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They were gone.

I curled myself into a tiny shaking ball on my bed. I was dressed in one of my normal black dresses. My hair was worn down and looked like a rat's nest. My face was caked in a mask of sweat and tears. My entire body trembled. My shaking breaths were quick and uneven. My wide eyes burned. It was very wet and sticky in my cocoon. All I heard were the somber and slow pulses of my heart.

It was late June. School was going to end soon. Spring was going to end soon. My existence was going to end soon.

It all happened so fast.

I ignored the phone every time it rang. Half of the calls were from Bertha and Prudence. They had witnessed my moment of realization. They saw my face stricken with worry as I ran out the classroom door. I remembered that they followed me out the door, calling my name, but I was in such a tizzy that I didn't notice. They were just being good friends. But I pushed them away.

_They're out of time_, the voice said. My alarm clock beeped three times. I had been lying there on my bed curled up in a ball under my blanket. Time was ticking by so quickly. My heart was slow. The air I breathed was stuffy and hot, used, poison air. Come back Father. Come back Mother. Hold me again. Hold me until time runs out forever. My muscles were tense and pulsing. I was rolled up in a little ball under the blanket. It was warm and cozy like their embrace.

"I want to be dead too," I whispered. This was the first time I heard my voice in hours. It was scratchy and still watery from tears. I forced out a few coughs to loosen the stuff in my throat. I swallowed it and felt it slither down to my stomach. The outsides of my eyes were painted with dried tears. I could feel the red puffiness in my eyes. They were exhausted of moisture.

_There's still time_, said the voice.

They don't need me. They're fine by themselves. I was just the unnecessary third person. My friends, they don't need me. Everything good comes in pairs.

They were gone.

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It was seven in the morning. The phone rang twice before I went to pick it up. I was exhausted even though I spent my night in my bed. I never fell asleep. I just lay there with wide open eyes. The voice kept me awake.

"Hello?" I said groggily into the phone.

"Lydia?" the squeaky voice on the end replied. "It's Prudence." She paused for a moment. I let out a small cough. "Is everything okay? You don't sound too good."

"I'm fine," I responded curtly.

"Are you sure? Do you want to talk about it?"

"No…not really," I said quietly. I was only eleven. I was too young to be depressed. She wouldn't understand.

"Oh…okay. See you later. Bye." The other end clicked. Sighing, I hung up the antique rotary phone. I left the living room, my socked feet padding against the wooden floor. Just as I reached our kitchen, the phone went off ringing again. This time I didn't pick it up. I leaned against the kitchen wall and let the machine get it. After the beep, I heard Bertha speaking.

"Lydia? It's me, Bertha. Are you okay? Call me if you get this message. If not, I'll see you later. Bye!" I got the message. I didn't call. Barbara and Adam were the only ones I told my problems to. Now they were gone.

Bertha and Prudence may have been my friends, but deep down I knew that they did not fully understand me. They couldn't replace _them_.

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_I am alone._

The house was empty. The parents were gone. I sat at my desk. All the lights were off except for my candle lamp, which I moved from my center table to my desk. My heart sped up with each word I wrote. My fingers shook. My toes tapped the floor. My words were malformed. The strokes were rickety, not smooth like they normally were. I sat at the desk staring down at the yellow lined sheet of paper. Time was ticking away from my grasp. I had let it go.

In my frustration, I grabbed the paper and crumpled it into a messy ball. I tossed it to the side where it joined a forming mountain of yellow paper balls. I took another piece.

_I am utterly alone._

My eyes stung. There was very little light. The flame in my lamp was slowly withering away into nothingness. I let out a shuddering sigh before continuing my last message. I wrote, letting the words completely spill out of me. They were barely legible. I didn't care. I just kept writing and writing until the fountain went almost dry. I only had one more thing to say. Sighing again, I gently pressed the pen to the paper, taking extra effort to make the strokes smooth.

_By the time you read this, I will be gone, having jumped_

I scribbled out the word "jumped".

_plummeted off the Winter River Bridge._


	9. New Beginnings

**Chapter Nine: New Beginnings**

I folded the note in half three times and ran down the stairs. My head felt light when I stood, but soon enough it gained weight again. I left the note on the kitchen table where Mother and Father were sure to see it. They wouldn't understand, but I left the note anyway. It would remind them to say my name.

I walked my bike to the covered bridge and let it fall to the ground. I planned on climbing to the top of the cover and jumping face first into the deep river. I would meet the same watery grave as Adam and Barbara did. I would be with them. I would be free.

I was only eleven years old. I was too young to be depressed. Nevertheless, I was more than depressed. Grief weighed down my heart. It served as the perfect anchor. I was too young to have thoughts of suicide. Yet there I was, climbing to the top of a covered bridge to perform just that. Soon I would be in the Neitherworld with my family again where I could be happy and feel accepted.

The breeze lightly tossed my hair as I stood on the cover. It playfully tickled my ears, whispering sweetly and kissing my face. Even though it was a warm June morning, goose bumps prickled my chilled skin. I wrapped my arms around myself in hopes of creating some sort of final warmth, but I only felt cold. I looked down below at the running river. The water below me was freezing. It would be the last thing I feel, cold, rushing, water. For a moment I closed my eyes asked myself if I should go through with this. My inner voice said yes. It was the only way to happiness. The deep scratchy voice said no.

I let out a gasp as I raised my head and my eyes shot open. The voice was there again, but I was in the same surroundings. The gentle wind continued to waft across my skin. The trees kept swinging their leaves all in the same direction. The water below me ran as fast as nature allowed it to go. The wood below my feet creaked when I shifted my weight from foot to foot. A shuddering sigh escaped my lips.

_There's still time_, the throaty voice said. Get out of my head! Let me go! _Still plenty of time. _I bent my knees, ready to jump. Just as I was about to thrust myself up and into the water, the joints in my knees froze. I had shut my eyes tightly, expecting the freezing collision, but I still felt the wind. I opened my eyes. Go! Go! Please, let me be! _Still time, still time_.

I felt my knees move again. They straightened, and then my feet began moving me towards the edge. I sat down and carefully guided myself onto the ground once more. The wind was there to nudge me along when I wanted to fight back. I knelt beside my bicycle and picked it up. After mounting it, my legs began peddling. I wasn't sure at first where my legs were taking me, but then the road started seeming familiar. We were going to the cemetery. The wind followed, pushing me along and making me go faster.

I parked the bike near the gate and I stepped in. Little gray stones popped out of the ground for as far as the eye could see. At first my steps were timid and small, but soon enough they sped up until I found myself running. My surroundings seemed to never change. Gray stones to my left. Gray stones to my right. Green below my feet. It never ended. All the while, I kept hearing the voice saying, _Still time. There's still time. _My time was gone. There was no more time left for me. But the voice said there was. I kept running and running. Nothing looked recognizable when I finally came to a halt, but I was surrounded by a familiar warmth. I looked around but I could not see the sources of that tender feeling. Was my mind playing tricks on me?

The same force in my body that brought me to the cemetery pulled on me again. My feet had no choice but to obey and follow it. I only took a few steps. My knees gave away and I fell to the ground, landing right on my knees. I hissed a little as I clutched my right knee, eyes shut tightly. When the pain finally went away, I opened my eyes and looked at the tombstones. The one on the left said Adam. The one on the right said Barbara.

"Adam. Barbara," I whispered before drooping onto my side. For a while I just let myself lay there. The ground below me was warm. I drew my bent knees close to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. Maybe if I wished hard enough, they would come back to me. But they were gone. I whispered their names over and over again, knowing that they would be rejuvenated if I did.

My head shot up. Like a nervous squirrel I turned my head every which-way. I sat up more, rubbing my eyes and blinking. My eyes carefully scanned the seemingly endless graveyard. Below me the community of yesterday rested beneath six feet of earth. I looked at the forgotten names. A soul out in the Neitherworld was floating, waiting, praying for someone to say her name. I saw Adam and Barbara as themselves in their ghostly forms. Over time, their souls would slowly decompose and they would become ghastly, forgotten creatures. Gasping, I said their names again. I looked down at their headstones. Adam. Barbara. I exhaled their names once more. They were engraved in my memory, never to be forgotten. Proof of their existence had to be kept. I was that proof. I would remember them for the rest of my life. I would keep them in my thoughts. I would preserve them in my heart. I knew that they were watching over me. I needed them. They needed me.

It felt nice to be needed.

I stood, my eyes still on the warm ground below me. I felt a small smile form on my lips. My gaze then trailed to the headstone next to Adam's. This one read "Emily." I said that name too. I began walking, keeping my eyes on the headstones. Susannah. George. Jonathan. Maggie. Helen. Erik. Jack. Martin. Anthony. Chloe. Elizabeth. Jan. Sandra. Daniel. Allan. Cora. Sophie. Rodger. Mark. Abigail. Arianna. Carmen. Jacob. Nathan. Sarah.

I listed all the names that my eyes passed over. My voice may have been quiet, but I knew that these people, ones who had been forgotten by humanity, were now feeling a sort of glow, a warmth, a life-force, inside of them. A piece of their essence was returned to them. Were these people aware of what was happening? Were they thankful? It didn't matter if they were aware of my acts. All that mattered was their happiness.

"Beetlejuice."

The name easily slipped off my tongue when I first read it. I didn't exactly realize what I had just said until I moved on. Just before I said the next person's name, I slipped back to Beetlejuice's headstone. It was one of the more decorated ones. A trio of nasty looking gargoyles sat on top of a pillar-like object. The epitaph was colored in red and included an arrow pointing downward.

"Here lies Beetlejuice," I read. My eyes widened ever so slightly at the obscurity of the name. Who in their right mind would name their kid _that_? I took a couple more steps towards the grave. "What a strange name," I muttered. I decided to test the name out once more.

"Beetlejuice."

The End


End file.
